Trembling Butterfly
by the Chronic Meltdown
Summary: Faberry, post-'Theatricality'. A shoot-out at WMHS leaves four dead and three wounded. In the aftermath, when Quinn finds herself spiraling down into an abyss of self-hatred, Rachel finds she doesn't know how to help her.
1. Prologue

_Trembling Butterfly_

"Do I dare disturb the universe?"

**Prologue**

"_I am no prophet- and here's no great matter;  
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,  
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat,  
and snicker,  
And in short, I was afraid."  
_-"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", T. S. Eliot

By default and common belief, everything seems worse at night.

It's why young women hurry home and walk in packs, and avoid shortcuts through alleyways. Because there is comfort only within the safety of daylight. Because when the sun is high in the horizon, things are more easily perceived, and only secrets lurk in shadows.

The sun moves, though, and so does the shade. Forever and forever, until the secret can no longer keep up, and is left in the open.

And people are like this, too, but the truth is that this is never spoken of. It is a subject never touched upon, but acknowledged nonetheless, in the same way that a person acknowledges the existence of sharks in large bodies of water (_the Great White Shark, which grows to an average length of about eighteen feet and can live up to thirty years, and the bull shark, which, when female, can grow to a length of thirteen feet, and God, people aren't even safe in rivers_)but continues to swim at the beach _(river)_ anyway.

And in that way, things continue without hiccups and people are people with their secrets and resentments and loves, and the verve just _is_. Relationships (_like people_) change and grow and fade away, or are severed forcefully by revelations, or are torn apart by outside forces.

And despite this, life continues without a hitch. Life continues, ruthlessly and without a second thought, until you become a vacant memory. A picture that gathers dust in the darkest recesses of an abandoned apartment.

A dying butterfly nailed to a wall by the wings, under the glare of a moonless night; you struggle in oppressive silence. (_Your body shrieks, but there's no one there to hear it. And the truth is that there are no answers._)

The truth is that no one will remember you after you die, and life (_as a force, or better yet, as a whole_) is indifferent to your existence. You are, and forever will be, a single speck of dust. It will not stop, for you. It will not pay its respects.

Instead, it will simply continue. _Onwards, _and without you_._

Even when there's a shark attack.

-o-

Once upon a time in Lima, Quinn Fabray stands at her locker.

She is around eight months pregnant. Her hair is loose, falls around her in waves. She looks like an angel, even to those who used to hate her. But they are not deceived. They know the things she's capable of doing. They remember the person she's capable of being.

But this morning, they don't hate her. This morning, they are not indifferent to her. This morning, they notice her for the first time since her fall.

This morning, they _see_ her, and the truth is that she is beautiful.

And once upon a time in Lima, Quinn Fabray stands at her locker.

She's wearing light colors, and she has sad eyes, and she's spinning in her locker combination with an ease so practiced it looks almost mechanic. One of her hands is resting on her baby bump. She seems tired. Several lockers away, Rachel Berry wonders if she's been sleeping well. She shouldn't care, not really, not after the way Quinn's treated her, but she does. Vaguely. In the part of her brain/heart that doesn't think the blonde's the perfect example of a teenage trollop.

Still, Rachel remembers everything the girl has done to her, and turns away. She looks to Jesse, who is making her way towards her, and past his shoulder to Finn, who is watching her with those patented sad boy eyes she sometimes loves and sometimes hates.

She observes Puck standing in the distance, speaking with Santana. Santana, who isn't even pretending to pay attention as she types into her phone's keyboard, presumably sending Brittany some sort of text.

Kurt and Mercedes are walking down the hallway towards them, gossiping about something or the other.

It's so normal that Rachel doesn't even think twice when someone forcefully shoves her out of the way and into the arms of her now-irritated boyfriend.

"Hey." Jesse calls angrily, his handsome face reflexively twisting into a frown, "Watch where you're going."

She grabs the cuff of his sleeve and tells him that it's okay, that she doesn't care, and really, she doesn't, except that around ten seconds later, she hears a girl shout, "Look at me!" and she's turning around in a mix of confusion and alarm, and she sees Puck peering almost disinterestedly at the dark haired girl before an expression of recognition dawns on his face.

"It's you." he says, like he's surprised, and then his eyes grow round and wide and something akin to fear flickers across his face, for a moment, only flickers, before setting itself up for permanent residence.

And then the girl shoots, and it's like the world has ended.

-o-

Life moves on. _Forwards._

-o-

Her life erupts in noise and screaming, and while Noah collapses on the ground and Santana kneels beside him, Quinn Fabray remains standing at her locker.

She is frozen in place, in shock, a peculiar sense of terror writing horrifying poetry across her features.

She's standing there, desperate, there, when the girl turns to face her. And she knows the face, recognizes it, acknowledges her end.

There is blood sprayed across her face, forming flowers on her shirt, seeping into her socks. She's wearing a Cheerios uniform that she must have borrowed from someone because Quinn can very distinctly remember humiliating the girl into submission, once upon a time, during the moments where she'd been on top of the universe. She can distinctly remember the feel of her vicious smile as it curled upon her face, as she spat words of poison at this girl, this one girl, that one time, without any valid reason.

And once upon a time in Lima, Quinn Fabray stands at her locker.

As the world erupts in movement and the noise around her reaches its maximum pitch, she sees the girl's lips move.

They say, _"My, how the mighty have fallen."_

They say, _"I heard you were as big as a house, but I didn't think Brittany was being this literal."_

They tell her, _"I heard you're giving her up for adoption. It is a girl, isn't it?"_

They tell her, _"Why don't I save you the trouble?"_

And Quinn thinks, _Please, God, no._

-o-

_Onwards._

-o-

The girl takes aim, and fires.

* * *

**A/N: **I wrote this just now, after concieving it in five minutes, because I read this really depressing one-_shot_ (:D I'm funny. Haha. See?) at the Rachel_Quinn community in livejournal. And, yeah, no, I don't really remember the title or the author, but Quinn knows she's going to die, and yeah, though it didn't make me cry, it made me hurt in all the wrong (_right_) places. So, yeah, kuddos to her.

Anyway, high school shooting. List of reasons why will be revealed in the next chapter.

This brain child hurts. In a really good way. And I'm getting crack ideas for this fandom, so, I think I'm staying here for a really long while. That hasn't happened in ages. It makes me smile. (I was beginning to worry that I was losing my motivation to write.)

Later.

PS: Faberry FOR THE WIN. Also, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is one of my favorite poems of all time. Love it. _Love. It._


	2. Ch 1: One Art

_Trembling Butterfly_

"_Do I dare disturb the universe?"_

**Chapter 1: **One Art

_"Then practice losing farther, losing faster:  
places, and names, and where it was you meant  
to travel. None of these will bring disaster."  
_-"One Art", Elizabeth Bishop

When Quinn Fabray wakes up again, it's like she's floating underwater.

Things shimmer around her like mirages, like she's a girl gone astray in a desert and the heat is getting to her head. It's like her brain is frying, like she's losing cells just by trying to keep her eyes open, and really, the light hurts her and makes her dizzy, and she knows that there's movement, but she can't focus on any single thing.

She wants everything to stop moving because she feels like she's going to be sick and it's not a pleasant sensation. And there _are_ sensations, many of them, like a wrenching cold that has every hair on her body stretching away from her, as if attempting to run away. And she can feel her heart jumping about erratically, as if trying to leap out of her chest. And she's trembling, and (_God, the nausea_) there's a terrible, maddening pain in her abdomen, and-

"_She's gone into hypovolemic shock…"_

Her head lolls around in place. She is so, utterly disoriented. She wants to get up, to run away from this because it hurts _too much_; she wants to take off her skin, to get away from her body and become someone else, anyone else, if only not to feel this pain.

"_No, you don't understand! She's…!"_

Different voices. Different_ voices_.

It hurts, for seconds longer, seconds that feel like hours. And then she's not awake, anymore.

-o-

It's like her life is stuck on fast forward and she's feeling everything at once.

The truth is that it's terrifying, that she's scared, but she puts on a brave face and faces things head on as though she's always known that this would happen, like she's been trained for situations like these, like she knows exactly what she's doing when she says, "Put some pressure on his wound." and isn't just as lost as everyone else is.

Santana is fumbling around in the noise, fumbling like a blind beggar, and it may be because of the tears but Rachel sure as hell doesn't care right now, couldn't care less that the girl is crying, because she just wants Noah to be all right, except that Jesse's beside her and he sounds alarmed when he tells her, "I can't see her anywhere."

Her mind races and reels because she knows that these situations aren't random, that most of the people who do these things have lists of people to harm, to take revenge on, and that if there's anything WMHS has taught her, it's that there are at least three people who harm others on a day to day basis, and another who used to.

She knows all four of them personally. Puck is not on the list but, in some strange, detached part of her (_the only currently calm, currently rational part of her_), it doesn't surprise her in the slightest that he's a target.

So when the next shot rings out, somewhere that seems surprisingly near to them, Rachel simply _knows_. As she turns in the direction of the noise, as she sees people form a sort of bubble in the distance, a bubble that widens with every second that lapses, she _knows_.

Another shot echoes in her ears before she can take a trembling, desperate step towards Quinn.

That other shot, and Rachel can't breathe as she reaches feebly for her teammate.

-o-

The next time Quinn wakes up, everything's blurry. There are machines beeping beside her and people in masks moving above her, and the light only irritates her eyes. The extra pain makes her distinctly uncomfortable, and the rising discomfort gives way to agony, and the agony makes her heart beat faster and faster to the point where she just wants everything to stop, to end, to finish.

She wants things to cease, wants to cease _existing_, wants everything to leave her alone and go away, as far away from her as possible.

"_Doctor…I think she's waking up."_

She is confused, so terribly, frighteningly confused, so confused that it _hurts_. God, it _hurts_, it hurts so badly, and she isn't sure what it is that's painful anymore. She isn't sure what she's-

And there are such terrible _sounds_.

"_Then put her back _under_, you twit."_

Quinn closes her eyes because it hurts, because the light makes her eyes burn, and sees butterflies crossed and pasted to the back of her eyelids, pasted, with the appearance of x-rays, so she blinks rapidly and then lets out something along the lines of a whimper, because _(God, it _hurts_) _she sees them again.

She sees them, and her nausea rises as they transform into little girls with blonde hair and eyes that look so familiar they cause her a muddled sense of anguish.

And _God, dear God, dear God,_ she can't think straight anymore.

-o-

They're sitting in a room with walls so white she thinks she's going blind.

She's shaking even with a jacket on and Jesse's arms around her, and with all of them there, it feels like they're on watch and waiting for someone to die. Her hands tremble as she huddles closer to the Vocal Adrenaline star. Her throat feels swollen, as though she's eaten something she's inordinately allergic to. The truth is that she feels like crying but won't let the tears fall because she knows she's supposed to be strong.

She's putting up a brave front but everyone inside that room knows that, of all of them, she's probably the most affected. Because God only knows that she feels things, _wants_ things, too much.

And right now, what she wants is for everything to go back to normal. (_She knows that it won't._)

She continues replaying the morning in her head, over and over, scene after scene. She recalls the improvised dialogue, the feel of one of her argyle sweaters against her skin; she reviews the special effects, the way Noah's legs collapsed unceremoniously, as though struck with a fit of bad acting.

She remembers Quinn's pale face, the ragged breathing; she recalls red dispersing like poison in water, a visible disease spreading across the floor. Clothing stained. Hair matted to skin as the girl was wheeled away.

She'd barely been breathing.

She grips Jesse's arms tighter around her and lets out a soft, shuddering breath.

-o-

In just under an hour, Quinn's addled brain dreams up things she won't remember in the near future.

In fifty-six minutes, she sees herself standing in the middle of a wheat field with gold swaying about her waist as the wind gently caresses her. The sunlight brings out the green in her eyes as she breathes in, as she takes in a trembling breath. She's shaking as she gazes at the sky, as she becomes lost in the beauty of the moment.

_Inhale, exhale_. She's alive, and all she can feel is an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

(_Outside her mind, they cut her open, they take out bullets, they repair her. Outside her mind, her skin is not suffused with blood; instead she is pale, she is beautiful, she is glorious. Outside her mind, she is dying._)

She breathes, and is alive. Her skin prickles, sensitive to the touch. Goosebumps rise along it.

In the distance, she sees a single tree. There is a swing there, seemingly out of place when in regards to her surroundings.

(_Because around her, in that place inside her mind, there is only air. There is only sky. Around her, there is just a wheat field.)_

Still, she breathes in, and steps forward, and continues living. She walks forward, moves with ease, until she's standing only several feet away, at the edge of a circle. Wheat does not grow, there. The roots of the tree will not allow it. They are gnarled and rise along the ground, as though reaching out to her.

But this is not what catches her attention.

A butterfly has fluttered past her face. It is a beautiful thing, with specs of gold and brown and green, and it flies around her, bobs circles about her, until it becomes tired and decides to rest upon the swing.

And then it's like things are flickering, switching between one reality and the next, like someone is constantly flicking a switch in her brain. For a moment, the butterfly is still a butterfly, and is moved with a sense of purpose that Quinn will never understand.

And then, for a moment, the butterfly becomes a little girl, sitting on the swing, with the tips of her little shoes dragging lightly across the floor, forming shapes in the dirt. Her face is the pinnacle of innocence as she grips the ropes. It grows alight with delight as she manages to swing forward a little faster, ever faster, ever farther.

A girl, then a butterfly, then a girl, again.

Something rises in Quinn, and it's a feeling that she's never felt before. It's confused, _muddled_, but she feels it. She feels it.

This world-shattering sense of longing, of love for someone she's never met before. She feels it.

The girl smiles up at her.

(_Quinn _wants_ her._)

Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Still, the youngest Fabray understands her.

"_Help me swing, Mommy!"_

So she steps forward, compelled by that feeling, and breaks into the circle.

Everything around her thus turns to ashes and is carried away from her by an unforgiving wind.

-o-

When the doctor comes, Jesse jerks her awake.

It's funny, though, how everyone rushes forward simultaneously and congregates around the man. When it comes down to it, they really _are_ a team, and, for one selfish moment, she wishes they could still show at Regionals. Then the feeling's gone, leaving her with a desperate sense of emptiness and a desire to see her friends alive.

"I have good news and bad news." the man says lightly, gently, with a tone far too strained for comfort. Her heart twists painfully in her chest, squirms inside her, and she can't bear the thought of looking into another person's eyes, so she just burns holes into the floor. "The boy, Noah Puckerman, is currently stable."

Almost immediately, it's like a weight has lifted from all their shoulders. She feels a little lighter, now, but only a little, because Quinn's still in there, and despite all that's happened, she doesn't want the girl to die.

Despite everything, she doesn't hate her, and God knows she doesn't want the girl to die.

"However, as for the Fabray girl…" the doctor hesitates, before continuing, "There were obvious complications due to her pregnancy."

Rachel's heart freezes in her chest.

"We tried to save the baby's life, but it was…stillborn." He hesitates, again, and it's like he's aged a decade.

Somewhere in the background, where she's not dying of shock, she can hear Mercedes whisper, "This is going to kill her."

But then the doctor speaks again, and she grows quiet.

"When she arrived here, she'd already gone into something we call hypovolemic shock. Hypovolemia is a state of decreased blood volume due to, in your friend's case, severe hemorrhaging." His face twists into a peculiar sort of grimace. "Now, hypovolemic shock is divided into four stages which are sometimes referred to as tennis staging, precisely because the four stages of blood loss mimic the scores in a game of tennis. And, as with tennis…once you score over forty, the game is over."

Every hair on her body is standing on end in a way that's surprisingly painful, in a way that feels as though her every (_dead_) cell is trying to rip away from her.

"What stage was she in?" Schuester asks softly, like he's afraid to hear the answer.

The doctor takes a breath and holds it in, for a few seconds, before letting it blow past his lips. He crosses and uncrosses his arms over his chest as he speaks.

"When she arrived here, she was well into stage two. We initiated inotropic therapy in order to increase her output of oxygen to the brain and began treating her with certain IV fluids to compensate for her blood loss. However, now that we've performed surgery..." he sighs harshly in frustration, "We need to initiate blood transfusions immediately, or she's going to die."

"Then what's stopping you?" Finn mutters angrily, taking a step forward from his place at Mr. Schuester's side. "Why haven't you done anything yet?"

Rachel's appreciation for him immediately swells and she suddenly feels like she could run into his arms and never let him go. Only Jesse's grip on her hand holds her back.

"Her blood type is B-." He's quiet as he says this, as though he's already resigned himself to Quinn's death. It infuriates her beyond reason. "The largest chance of having someone whose blood is compatible here on time is her family, and they won't answer our calls. I'm sorry, but-"

Rachel wrenches herself from Jesse's grasp and offers up her arm before she knows what she's doing.

"I'm O-." she says, haltingly. "Use my blood."

A tiny part of her half expects Santana to quip something along the lines of, "And give her your diseases? No way, man hands." but the other girl only remains silent and stares at the wall with eyes Rachel's never seen so sad.

-o-

She dreams things that she'll forget, and forgets things that she'll remember.

This is how it is, for her, while they make her sleep.

_Always._

-o-

When Quinn wakes up from her drug induced dreams, she is in a room with stale white walls. There's a small TV in front of her, and to her left is a window revealing the night sky. An empty loveseat faces her from that direction, along with a small, sterile coffee table. To her right are drawn curtains and a closed door.

White sheets encompass her. If she looks straight up, all she can see is the ceiling.

For a few moments, she can't remember who she is or where she's at, or why she is where she is.

For seconds, she can't recall how she got there, or even the people she loves.

For a snapshot, all she can feel is physical pain of the barely bearable variety.

But then, slowly, steadily, her heart begins to ache. It grows with every memory stretched bare within her mind.

Steadily, she recalls her name.

Steadily, she remembers the faces that give her life meaning.

Steadily, that morning becomes clear to her, becomes something so painfully vivid she can feel her anxiety returning.

Her heart rate increases. For the first time, she notices the beeping, sees the IV dripping something into her veins through a needle jabbed into her skin.

Someone opens the door, and light spills inside.

For a second, she sees dark hair and pale skin. For a moment, instead of a needle, she sees the hard glint of a gun.

For a snapshot, she relives the terror.

But these are only seconds, and soon after, as she tries to open her mouth to utter a scream when she finds herself surrounded by people she doesn't know, someone puts her back to sleep.

-o-

The next time Quinn wakes up, she is still in the same room. It is daytime now, though, and the curtains to her right are not drawn. It takes her less time to collect herself, this time, and the same unspeakable pain in her chest (_inside her heart_) threatens to overwhelm her.

People pass by her room, in opposite directions, without shooting her a second glance.

She doesn't look at herself. She doesn't want to face it.

It is an unnamable fear, something horrible that looms like a phantom in the distance. A spectral thing.

Moisture grows in her eyes, to the point where her vision becomes blurry. She blinks, and the tears fall without her permission.

The door to her room opens, gently, so she can barely hear it. She doesn't know who it is, and doesn't care, until he steps into her line of vision. It is a man she vaguely recognizes from the night before. He has kind, sad eyes that make her feel hopelessly lost.

He has eyes that pity her.

"Miss Fabray…" he says softly, at a visible loss for words, "…You…"

He trails off, and she shakes her head as she tries to choke back a sob.

-o-

It is two days after the incident, and Rachel Berry is curled up on her sofa and watching a movie with glassy eyes. She is in the middle of watching a movie when her phone rings.

At the sound of the first words of her ringtone, she jumps in fright, her heart performing cartwheels in her chest. Loud noises scare her now, and she can't help but react when one of her fathers accidentally slams the door on his way out. It takes her several moments to regain her bearings, to remember that she's safe now, that she was never exactly a target. And she's not the only one this happens to, because she's not the only one _it_ happened to, but it's easy to forget, sometimes.

She knows she's not alone in this, that everyone else is just as affected as she is, but it's easy to forget, sometimes.

Still, she eventually calms down enough to remember how to flip open her phone, and speaks without even glancing at the caller ID.

"Hello?" she voices out, sounding like the frightened little girl that she is.

Because she _is_ frightened, and though she's not a little girl anymore, she certainly feels like one.

"_Rachel, it's Finn." _Her every fear leaves her at the sound of the boy's voice. _"Quinn's awake."_

And suddenly, it's like the sky has cleared.

-o-

The first person she sees that she actually recognizes and knows is her mother, who holds her hand so tightly Quinn thinks it might break.

The woman tells her, _"I'm so sorry."_

She says, _"I'm so, so sorry."_

She says, _"I was so scared I was going to lose you."_

And Quinn hears her, but the truth is that she can't do anything but cry.

-o-

Four days later, the glee club trickles in. They come and go in groups, because none of them are allowed to stay for long.

Only three are allowed in at a time, and the first who see her are Artie, Tina, and Mr. Schuester.

Artie and Tina tell her that Puck is doing much better, and that he's even gone so far as to flirt with some of the nurses. She wants to laugh, but that's painful, so all she can do is create a twisted sort of smile with her lips. It feels more like a grimace with every passing second, so she lets it drop and stops pretending she's okay. Tina holds her hand, while Artie sits in silence.

Mr. Schue gazes at her with sad, watery eyes. Not for the first time, she desperately wishes he would hold her, so as to prevent her falling apart.

-o-

The next three who visit her are Brittany, Santana, and Mercedes.

It is more of a miniature scuffle than anything else, with Brittany holding the peace while Santana and Mercedes spit acerbic comments at each other. The whole thing is more of an ordeal than anything else, because while the banter is funny and more than just occasionally witty, both girls are her friends and she doesn't want to watch them argue.

-o-

The next to visit her are Matt, Mike, and Kurt.

Matt and Mike try to cheer her up with funny jokes, while Kurt sits at the chair by her side and holds her hand. He, above all other people, is the least awkward and most tactful with her feelings. He just sits there quietly and lets her derive comfort from his presence.

It means more to her than he'll ever know.

-o-

The last are Finn, Jesse, and Rachel.

It's an uncomfortable affair because of all of their history, but she appreciates the effort nonetheless. Finn and Jesse make it all the more awkward by sending each other glances that leave nothing of their hatred for each other to the imagination. Rachel makes it even more uncomfortable than that by remaining oblivious to it all and chattering Quinn's ears off.

She tells her silly, inconsequential things, like who wrote what track for _Les Mis_ and what it was she'd had for dinner the previous night. She prattles on and on about how Quinn really needs to practice singing more often because she tends to go sharp in certain places. She talks incessantly, and it's so annoying that, some thirty minutes in, the youngest Fabray actually tells her, "Shut up, Berry."

She says it quietly, tiredly, but in a way that is unmistakably annoyed and almost huffy.

(_The truth is that she's impossibly grateful, because this is what she wanted. This is what she wanted. Rachel's treating her like she's stronger than a piece of coral _[coral, which is so fragile that a single, feathery touch can destroy it]_, and it's exactly what she wanted.)_

Like she can read her mind, Rachel smiles.

Quinn's lips tilt upward at the edges in response, and even though her eyes are intolerably sad, it's progress.

-o-

Her father never visits her.

Her mother never mentions this.

Quinn feels it hurts too much to ask.

-o-

Some time into her eighth night at the hospital, Quinn wakes up to see her mother standing by the foot of her bed.

She is staring up at the TV and watching the news. The pictures on screen make her blood freeze.

"…_Azimio and Dave Karofsky among the dead. Still in critical condition are…"_

She clenches her eyes shut and begins to hum under her breath, because _oh my God, oh my God, oh my God_ the world is going to end and she's lost her baby and _BethBethBeth_ she'd wanted to keep her.

-o-

Rachel visits her almost every day, and every day, the pain is a little more bearable. Every day, she hears that she and Puck are making considerable progress, and every day, her visitors are allowed to stay a little longer.

Only her mother is allowed to stay overnight, and that's great because Quinn needs her right now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't wish her father would come visit her and tell her that everything's going to be okay. He never does, though, so Quinn eventually loses hope.

Still, she feels better every day (_physically_) and eventually, she can move her arms around in any way and it doesn't hurt her.

One night, Puck comes to visit her unannounced. She supposes that that's the way it has to be for it to happen because she's sure he's not supposed to be out of bed, but still, she loves him for it.

Or at least, she does until she sees his eyes.

His eyes, reminiscent of those she sees every time she sleeps, and this time remembers. Remembers, because she's not completely drugged anymore, she's just taking heavy things for the pain, but-

She remembers those eyes. Remembers, and misses them. She recalls the blonde hair, the flushed cheeks, the ever-present smile.

Puck brings it all back, and before she knows what she's doing, while the heart monitor beeps increasingly faster, she's yelling at him to get out, because she doesn't want to see his eyes, because he brings it all back, and _God, please God, please God,_ she wants to turn back time.

But Puck doesn't leave.

Puck doesn't leave, and instead watches her with his agonized eyes, watches her for several moments, before walking over to her, dropping down on his knees, and carefully cradling her arm to his face. It takes her what feels like a century to realize that they're both crying, and that he's feeling this just as much as she is.

It's why when the doctors come to check in on them, she grips his hand harder and asks them to (_please_) let him stay.

-o-

The day after that, Rachel comes to visit her again.

It's only her, this time, and it surprises her, because every other day someone else had come with her. Most of the time, the other girl had come with Jesse, and other times with Finn, and yet other times with one or both of her fathers. It had been awkward, at first, but she had eventually grown accustomed to the company. The other girl has yet to learn how to shut up, but she is oftentimes so considerate that Quinn doesn't really mind the blather, anymore.

Because it's nice to have someone there with her, since Puck can't visit her often, and her mother is there without being there, and really, Quinn doesn't want to speak to her anyway, so- Mr. Schuester has things to do, and he drops by occasionally, but the truth is that, most of the time, she's desperately lonely and hopelessly desperate while alone with her thoughts.

(_She doesn't want to think about everything that's happened, but she can't help it if there's nothing else to do._)

So when Rachel comes, Quinn is relieved because there are other things to think about.

Or at least there were, until the brunette broaches a subject Quinn really, _really_ doesn't want to touch.

"I was the first one there, you know…" the girl says lightly, her dark eyes heavy with something the blonde can't name. "By the time the ambulances arrived, your blood was all over my clothing."

Quinn wants to say something along the lines of, "At least you were wearing one of those hideous sweaters." but finds that she can't speak. Her throat is constricted, and she's not getting enough air.

She's not ready to talk about this. She'll never be ready to talk about this.

She wants Rachel to stop.

"I wanted to help you so badly, but they wouldn't let me on the ambulance with you because I wasn't family, and they wouldn't let me give you my blood, even though we're compatible, because I'm not seventeen, and- I thought you were going to die." she admits slowly, her voice thick with emotion. "I thought you were going to die, and I was so scared."

"_Shut up."_ she wants to say.

She wants to tell her, _"Stop talking."_

But Rachel's not a mind reader, and so she pushes on, as she does with everything else in her life.

"We were all so relieved when your mother got there in time, and…"

_God, please, _stop.

"When she found out about the baby-"

The damn breaks.

"Shut up!" she shouts, hoarsely, "Stop it! Just stop it…!"

She breathes in, harshly, with difficulty, and her voice is strained and she wants to cry, but she's so sick of crying that she miraculously avoids it. Rachel is stunned, and hurt, and, _Yes, _Quinn knows that the girl probably needs to talk about it, and, _Yes_, she knows she probably should too, but this is not the time, she isn't ready for it, and, God, _Please make it go away._

"Please…" she whispers, and her voice breaks halfway through the word. "Just leave me alone."

_Leave it alone._

Rachel obeys.

She stands and walks over to the doorway, before glancing back at her with a jaded expression.

"I'm sorry." she whispers back, and Quinn can only nod in response as she grips her sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She trembles as the brunette pushes past the doorway without ever looking back.

-o-

The next time she sees Rachel is at a _Welcome Back_ party nearly two months later, in the last few days of summer.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm so _proud._ I've actually _updated_.

Honestly, it's been _so long_ since I've done this. Started a story that's actually picked up steam. I've been writing this chapter for the past two days. And I was on a boat, yesterday. *makes weird gangsta hand gestures that don't fit because of pallor*

I am in such a good mood. That makes me weird. Please ignore me.

Anyway, _yes_, I killed the baby. And yeah, this won't be like most other fics where Rachel and Quinn just jump into each other's arms. I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible, with just enough emotional turmoil to _kill you_. *gleeful*

Oh, by the way, one of you left me a review that made my day _this much brighter_. *extends arms as far as body will allow* I love you. Yes, you. Love you. So much. I'd marry you if I weren't afraid you'd kill me and bury me somewhere they will never find me.

8D Hee.

Next chapter should be less fractured. Beware the angst, though. Oh, and Quick interactions. But those aren't romantic so much as baby drama angst.

Oh, and yeah. Medicine turns me on. I found out while I was researching.

There are so many _delicious_ diseases to set loose on my favorite characters... ;D

Just kidding. (Not really.)

Later.

PS: Reviews are food for my (_black_) soul.


	3. Ch 2: Eet

_Trembling Butterfly_

"Do I dare disturb the universe?"

**Chapter 2: **Eet

"_It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song.  
You can't believe it; you were always singing along.  
It was so easy and the words so sweet;  
You can't remember; you try to feel the beat."_

_She can't remember what it feels like to be normal. _

Her life is divided in two.

She is fragmented in impossible ways, like a beautiful mirror set to display on a high pedestal, a mirror glorified for several moments before it is violently knocked aside by the swing of a brutish arm. But the mirror only cracks, in certain places seen, and in others unseen. (_The trail of little crystals _[so small they resemble powder] _plays testament to that which only a microscope can see. No one really notices, the first time, and anyway, glass glitters even when it's broken._

_Glass is beautiful, even when it's broken._)

But then someone arrives, and strips the mirror of its last reserve of dignity.

Because, _before_, at least she had the frame.

_After_, she has nothing to hold her together.

_After_, all she can do is reflect darkness.

And even this she does brokenly.

-o-

Her life isn't completely back up to par, yet, but it's getting there.

She doesn't have nightmares every night, anymore, and no longer bats an eyelash when doors are shut a little too loudly. She doesn't flinch when she goes out and hears people whispering about the incident. Slowly, the memories become another part of her, no longer standing out like the ugly scars they used to be. This is not to say they're not painful, because she doesn't think the pain will ever fade away. But, slowly, she has learned to deal with the implications. Slowly, she has learned to manage the feelings that they inspire within her.

She will recover, but things will never be the same.

Rachel has yet to fully accept this.

-o-

The night before she receives the invitation (which is not so much an invitation as it is a poorly disguised order), Rachel Berry has a nightmare that is also a good dream. So, to be perfectly frank, it is in essence a garish, frightening thing with hints of shallow happiness to be found within.

And in it, she is sitting in the highest part of the bleachers.

From her seat, she can very easily survey the field, and, with her perfect vision, can adequately distinguish and identify the Cheerios who are currently on Coach Sylvester's team. Santana sprints ahead, effortlessly in the lead, with Brittany hot on her heels. Sue Sylvester shouts unintelligible things into her speakerphone. The football teams practices in a flurry of activity.

Somehow, the scene fills Rachel with unease.

Then, she sees why.

Beside Coach Sylvester, there is a girl. A blonde little girl with her hair tied up in a ponytail.

A blonde little girl who is wearing a yellow sundress.

The sight makes her heart stop, makes it wrench painfully in her chest. An oppressive sadness sinks down on her, nails her right to her seat. She wants to stand, to walk down the stairs in order to get a better look, but she can't. Her legs won't move. She feels heavy, like something's pushing her down, like she'd feel better if she were to lie across the bench and become motionless. She refuses to do so. And she struggles.

_Quinn_, she wants to say.

She wants to say, _Quinn Fabray._

As though she hears her, the little girl sits up straighter, no longer hunched in on herself. She turns slowly, squinting in her direction, her beautiful eyes glittering in the sunlight.

And she is so young. She is so, terribly young as she gazes up at Rachel, her expression twisted into something so very much like fear that it makes the brunette surge forward in her seat with a sudden burst of strength. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest as she races down her row and towards the steps and (_it feels so real_), when she gets there and the skin of her palm makes contact with the unnaturally icy surface of the railing, Coach Sylvester spins around, her megaphone slicing the air in a wide arc that comes inches from Quinn's face.

But the little blonde doesn't flinch, or cringe away, even though she should. This is when Rachel notices that all the movement in the field has stopped. The cheerleaders and jocks are frozen, staring up in their direction. Santana's glare in particular chills her to the bone. Somewhere in the time it took for her to move from her seat and over to the rail, the sky went dark. It feels like it's going to rain.

And then Coach Sylvester is shouting in Quinn's ear.

"_You're pathetic, Q!" _Hazel eyes remain focused on her own, unflinching even as the megaphone presses against her right ear, and it's started raining, it's started raining so the girl's blonde hair is matting against her pretty, pretty, beautiful little face, and God- all Rachel wants to do is protect her. _"Absolutely pathetic! This is all you're ever going to amount to in life! This is all that you deserve! This is all that anyone is ever going to give you because they all know how _worthless_ you are!"_

It starts as a small quiver in the little girl's lips.

"_No one wants you!"_

It turns into nails digging against the surface of the seat.

"_No one needs you!"_

It turns into the tearing of her eyes and an obvious struggle to remain composed. (_Once a Fabray…_)

"_Not even your parents are willing to put up with you!"_

It turns into something that very rapidly resembles a cave-in, with the way that the girl hunches in an attempt to protect herself. Still, she does not cry.

(_…always a Fabray._)

"_And by God, Q, why would they even want to?"_ At this, Sylvester's voice turns into a mockery of contemplation. _"All you've ever done is cause trouble for others."_

Rachel feels her nails dig into her own skin. She feels sluggish. She needs to do something. She needs to say something. She needs to interrupt this. (_But she's gone mute._)

And Quinn listens to those other words, unable to hear what Rachel desperately wants to say, but can't. The little girl is unseeing, staring in her direction but visually perceiving nothing. (_She hangs on to the words, as though enchanted, even though they hurt her._)

"_You couldn't even stop it for the sake of your own baby."_

This is the moment where Quinn's face crumples.

This is the moment where Rachel takes a step, horrified, and furious. _Stop it!_

"_You disgust me."_

And before she can open her mouth to scream at her, Rachel's falling face forward as something hits her (_hard_) from behind.

She's falling headfirst into open water, and it's funny, because this is how dreams work, so it's funny except that it's really not because she doesn't know where Quinn is, can no longer see her, and it feels like she's going to drown. It tastes like salt water and she _moves_ like she's in salt water, like there are waves and currents tugging and pulling her under, and she supposes that there really are because she's spinning around, trying to get out before she runs out of air. And there are things brushing up against her in this darkness that she finds herself in, things that don't physically hurt her but do cause her stress, and she is so, utterly terrified as her mind conjures up pictures of sharks underwater.

The Great White shark, which can grow up to- the Bull shark, which can swim in-

And suddenly, she surfaces, surfaces so that her head is thrown back as she gasps for air, surfaces so that her (_suddenly_) bare feet are abruptly touching something that is relatively solid, surfaces so that she can see the stars.

And it is here, in this small stretch of land in the middle of what appears to be the ocean, that she finds Quinn again.

She finds Quinn again, less than a foot away from her, cupping something in her little hands. The girl's eyes are bright and teary in the moonlight. As the water shimmers and sways about her waist, she stretches out her tiny arms. Before she can stop herself, Rachel finds her hands curling around Quinn's smaller ones.

And then the seven year old tells her, in a voice that's painfully soft, _"This is what I dream about."_

She opens her hands.

A butterfly flutters its wings, as though preparing itself to fly. It is brown, and green, and gold, and beautiful. It reminds her of something she never got to know, of something she'll never be a part of.  
Then, it takes flight.

Something lodges in her throat as it flies circles around them, flies small circles around them, for several moments, before finally disappearing into the night in the feeble light of the moon.

She watches that direction, wishes for it to come back. When it doesn't, it feels like an unbearable loss. (_In some detached part of her, she wonders why._)

She feels a tug. She looks down to find Quinn gripping her shirt with her hands. The hazel eyed child smiles at her in a way that's wobbly, in a way that's unsteady, in a way that's watery.

"_This is what I'll dream about forever."_

This hurts her.

"_Quinn…"_ she manages to say, with difficulty, but this breaks the spell.

The images dissolve around her, fading into dust.

When she opens her eyes, all she sees is the ceiling of her living room.

She feels like crying. When she receives the invitation, all she says is yes.

-o-

On the afternoon of the party, Quinn sinks down on her knees, naked, in front of her mirror.

Her eyes are sunken. There are dark circles beneath them. No one would ever say she looks normal, but no one would ever say she looks terrible, either. She is a shadow of herself, without appearing to be a shadow of herself. Physically, it's a barely there, hardly noticeable affliction. She simply looks tired, like she's not getting enough sleep.

(_And she's not. She has nightmares every night, and every night, she wakes up screaming. There are whispers in her head, accusing whispers in her head that are bound to drive her crazy, sooner or later, but the truth is that she's already feeling out of control, like it's already happeni-_)

And there are other things.

She scarcely smiles anymore. Her gaze is often glazed over. When she pays attention, she's only halfway there, as though another part of her, the part they all used to know and hate and love, is out on vacation, or perhaps down for the count.

She is also thinner, now, but no one, not even her mother, knows to which extent. She is not anorexic, but she could be, in time.

So on the outside, she only looks tired.

But on the inside, she's a mess.

She's a mess, so on the afternoon of the party, Quinn sinks down on her knees in front of her mirror and cries.

It's the first time she's cried since her last night at the hospital, and it's the first time she's been left truly alone since then. It's the first time she's let herself look at the scars on her body, the first time she's let herself gaze at the disfigured skin marring what used to be very near perfection.

Sometimes, the wounds hurt. They twinge like they're still there, like she's been shot all over again, and this very often sends her into a panic. She will often retreat into the bathroom and, because she is a Fabray, deal with it where no one can see her.

Sometimes, she thinks she feels something in her stomach. Sometimes, when her hand drifts down to rest along her belly, she thinks she can feel something kick.

Sometimes, she thinks Beth is still alive. Sometimes, she thinks Beth is dead. Most of the time, neither thought is bearable.

Still, _she_ is alive, and on the afternoon of the party, she walks over to the mirror in her bedroom and strips down, article of clothing by article of clothing. Her skin is still slightly discolored. There are various, mottled bruises along the skin of her thighs from where she's pinched herself in order to regain control.

Still, the sight makes her cry, and even though she feels it was necessary, she really hates herself. The sight of the bruises only makes her angry, and the anger only makes her want to make it worse. And she deserves this. For all that she has done, she deserves this. For everyone she's hurt, she deserves this. For the girl whose life she inadvertently made forfeit, she deserves this. She deserves this, and more.

Worse.

"Quinn…? Are you all right in there?"

She takes a breath to control herself, and stands.

She says, "I'm okay."

She says, "I'm getting dressed."

And then she's numb, again.

-o-

When she sees her again, Rachel feels like someone's struck her across the face with a two by four.

Quinn doesn't look well; she doesn't look bad, but she doesn't look well, and the fact of the matter is that this makes Rachel feel uncertain. There are shadows beneath her eyes. She's thinner. She looks like she's drifting through the world, unseeing, and this bothers her.

Rachel watches her all through the party, through the awkward pats, the hugs, the unrestrained bitchery from Santana. This, at least, makes Quinn's lips quirk up, a little, and for that the brunette is grateful.

Rachel is grateful. She's grateful because she can still see the little girl etched into her retinas. She can still see Quinn, young, tiny, fragile in her mind's eye, holding up that trembling butterfly about to take off. She can see it, pictures the baby, pictures Quinn, feels her chest ache. She can barely stand it.

She feels worse than she did when Jesse egged her, feels worse than she did when everyone decided that it would be best for New Directions to refrain from participating in Regionals. They'd been short two members anyway, and no one had really felt like singing so soon after the incident.

She hates those words, hates herself for thinking them during what's meant to be a _Welcome Back_ party.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. This is supposed to be about being happy that Quinn is back, that Puck is back, that they're both okay even though several others are dead. _Including the baby_.

They're all supposed to be happy right now. They should be happy right now.

"What are you thinking about?" Brittany asks her quietly, and Rachel is struck, not for the first time, by the thought that the girl might be smarter than she seems.

She thinks up several things to tell her. She thinks she could tell her that she's thinking about singing. She thinks she could mention Puck's awful music selection (_it brings her comfort because it's so normal, so dirty, so inappropriate, but so normal when nothing else is, anymore_). She thinks she could mention Jesse, which would exactly be a lie but more of a half-truth, because she's thought of him, in passing, less than she would care to admit. She thinks she could mention Finn's dancing and how uncoordinated it still is, even though they've all been practicing together as a means of therapy.

_Nothing like a shooting,_ she thinks, abruptly bitter, _to bring people together._

_Nothing like dead babies_, a voice in her head whispers, _to make you feel concerned about people you once hated._

But she'd never hated Quinn. Not really.

So Rachel tells her, "I'm not."

"You're not what?" Brittany asks her, and her eyes are so honest and openly concerned that Rachel can't deny her.

So she takes a breath, tells her, "I'm not thinking." she says softly, "I'm observing."

"You're worried, aren't you? About Quinn…" Brittany trails off, looks in the broken doll's direction.

Quinn's a broken doll. She's beautiful, fragile, clearly incomplete.

She functions, but Rachel thinks she's not alive. She isn't dead, but she's not alive, either, and a part of her died with that little girl no one ever got to meet.

Before she knows what she's doing, she moves towards her.

Quinn sits on Puck's loveseat, tucked into a corner, small and barely breathing. Santana is next to her. Rachel's never seen the Latina like this; she's never seen her look so worried, and it's strange. It's strange to see her without Brittany, strange to see her spend time with the girl she's spent most of the year insulting. She isn't speaking; neither of them are. But she looks up when Rachel gets there, sees the intent in the girl's eyes, and swiftly stands up.

"Move, man hands." she states, almost roughly, but really, it's said without malice.

Rachel recognizes this and steps aside, allowing Santana to walk past her. Then, she turns to Quinn.

The girl's hazel eyes are tired. They ask her, _Why are you here? Don't you have other things to do? _

They ask her, _Why aren't you with Finn?_

Rachel says, "Hi, Quinn."

She says, "It's warm outside."

She sits down, feeling irritated at her inane attempts at conversation. The blonde's gaze follows her, growing so focused that Rachel's actually feeling a little uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat and angles her body towards Quinn. She leans sideways, until her shoulder's pressed against the cushions of Puck's sofa. She's not sure what she's doing.

Actually, she can't remember what she set out to do in the first place.

But Quinn watches her with a sort of jaded curiosity, and Rachel can't help but press forward.

"You look beautiful tonight." she tells her, almost thoughtlessly, and she can tell that Quinn is surprised.

-o-

She hasn't heard those words in such a long time.

It feels like they should be devoid of meaning. It feels like she should consider them empty promises, like the messages in fortune cookies she used to love to read, but hasn't ever since one of them politely told her she needed to watch her weight. The next thing she knew, she was staring into a pink plus sign that told her she was pregnant, and ever since then, she hasn't been able to stomach Chinese food, and God_Beth_, she can't think about this now.

But before she can stop herself, the words are blurting out of her mouth in a soft mumble.

"No, I don't." she says, "I don't look beautiful."

Rachel looks at her like she can't believe the words are coming out of her mouth. Quinn feels something in her crumble, and suddenly, her mouth tastes like ashes.

"_I thought you were going to die, and I was so scared."_

_Stop it,_ she thinks, and swallows against the tightness in her throat. She swallows against the dryness.

"You're always beautiful, Quinn." Rachel tells her honestly, looking so tentative that Quinn is reminded of the girl she used to be able to bully into submission.

The girl who once offered Quinn her friendship.

"I'm not." she insists, gesticulating, now, and she's growing agitated, everyone around her can tell, but they can't do anything to stop it. "I'm not beautiful anymore. I'm not. I never have been. I _never_ have been. I'm-"

_Awful._

She feels like she's driving towards an edge, like she's already slipping. She can't regain control.

_I'm foul. _

Her hands are trembling violently. She hears a door slam, jumps, sees the gun, sees the gun, and _God, dear God, dear God,_ wasn't that girl dead?

_I killed my baby._

Her hands are trembling. Her arms are trembling. She thinks she feels something kicking in her womb.

"Quinn!"

The feelings, images, fade.

Rachel kneels before her, holding her hands so tightly it almost hurts. Her face is pale. Her eyes are wide, frightened.

Quinn dazedly wonders why.

When she looks down, her hands are red. There are bloody half-moons on the skin of her palms.

She thinks it should hurt, but the truth is that it doesn't. The truth is that it doesn't.

The thought doesn't scare her as much as she thinks it should.

"_You spent half of your life trying to fall behind.  
You're using your headphones to drown out your mind.  
It was so easy and the words so sweet;  
You can't remember; you try to move your feet."  
_-"Eet", Regina Spektor


End file.
